Chapter Eleven

Thursday hadn’t been a good day so far as Doris was concerned. Weatherwise, it had been beautiful, so no arguments there. However, this was the only thing she believed had gone right.

As soon as she’d put the phone down on Walter, she’d wanted to follow her instincts and report sick, only Jane would never have believed her. She’d been planning a weekend to remember for the two couples in her life, Mary and Lawrence, and Penny and Tom. Walter had finally, he’d told her, come to terms with her being a millionairess, and so she’d decided, as the married pair hadn’t had a honeymoon—or even, so far as she could ascertain, a decent celebratory meal—she’d treat them all to a slap-up meal at the poshest restaurant they could find. Money often talked at these places, and the one thing she wasn’t short of was money. It wouldn’t be fish and chips, either!

However, Walter declaring he’d joined the Home Guard and would be away for training at the weekend threw a spanner in the works. She’d flown off the handle, even going so far as to accuse him of wrecking her plans deliberately, something she came to regret, as he hadn’t known about them. Of course, he’d denied it. Before Walter had a chance to reason with her, she’d flung the receiver down, earning herself a dirty look from Mavis, and stormed off.

Upon taking off, she’d seen Shirley standing with her hands in her pockets, watching them, her face a picture of misery. This made her recall they still hadn’t talked to her about why she was avoiding them. It almost made her sick to the bottom of her stomach. In the time it took for the Anson to drone its slow way to the Maintenance Unit for their first pick-up of the day, she’d gone back in time in her mind to try and pinpoint when their young friend had become so…unfriendly.

Penny was piloting the Anson today, with Mary beside her in the co-pilot’s seat. Doris was cooped up in the rear with another couple of girls, all sitting upon their parachutes. She thought the others’ names may have been June and Susie, or could they be Charlotte and Essie? Since she’d begun in the Air Transport Auxiliary, she’d realized it was like most other places. Once in a group, you stayed there and only liaised with others when necessary. To help pass the time until they arrived at their destination whenever she was flying the taxi, Penny had started to tune in music over the radio, and as Doris was pondering the problem, on came Glenn Miller’s “Little Brown Jug.” It may not have been a lightbulb moment, but it did have the same effect, and she involuntarily shot to her feet, promptly banging her head on the fuselage roof.

Fortunately, they landed barely ten minutes later, and as the other two girls—Trixie and Janet?—made their way over to collect their assigned aircraft, Penny and Mary held back.

“What the devil?” Mary asked, reaching up and touching the top of Doris’s head. “No bump. Lucky,” she commented.

Doris gave her head a little shake. Bump or no bump, she was developing a headache, not her favorite thing to fly with, so ignoring the quizzical stares of her friends, she dry-swallowed a couple of aspirin. Once this was done, she told her friends what had caused her to be so careless.

“I saw Shirley on the flight-line when we took off, and it got me thinking about why she could be upset with us. I haven’t been able to talk to her yet, and I don’t think either of you have either.” She paused whilst Penny and Mary both shook their heads. “Didn’t think so. Anyway, I think I’ve figured it out. You remember the hangar dance? Of course you do. Well, when we got the invitation to go, I didn’t think of her, and I don’t think either of you did either. I think we’ve hurt her feelings, as she obviously knows about it.” She added, “Think about it. Wouldn’t you want to go? Especially if you’re young and there was a chance to meet a Hollywood idol?”

Both Penny and Mary’s faces fell as what Doris explained hit home.

“She’s going to think we don’t like her anymore!” Mary declared, raising and then dropping her arms, her kitbag flopping to the ground besides her.

“Surely not?” Penny asked, though she didn’t sound very confident.

“No, Doris is right,” Mary told her, with a shake of her head. “She has to be. Remember what she went through when we first met her? How long it took for her to believe she had some friends?”

“And look at how we’ve behaved,” added Doris. “It’s no wonder she probably hates us right now.”

All three stood lost in their thoughts until Penny broke the silence. “Come on. We can’t stand around all day. You two had better get to work. We’ll sort it out with her when we get back tonight.”

****

Already feeling down, the icing on the cake, or so she’d thought, had been the type of aircraft Doris had been assigned to fly. The love of flying and a desire to contribute to the war effort had been the reasons behind her joining the ATA. Occasionally someone would ask what a Yank was doing in King Arthur’s Court instead of serving in the American equivalent. After rolling her eyes and counting to ten so she wasn’t tempted to hit the idiot who’d asked the question, she’d patiently explain she was making a real contribution to the war effort in the ATA, whereas the American WASPs (Women Airforce Service Pilots) did not have anywhere near the same level of respect and weren’t allowed to do the same job as the equivalent man. The fact she also didn’t want to live in her native country, as she was still getting over her husband’s death, had a great deal to do with it, too.

As she’d settled into her second Fairey Albacore of the day, she’d reminded herself that every delivery couldn’t be a Spitfire. Her third and final delivery was a slightly more comfortable, though with an open cockpit, Miles Magister. She’d done her job as required, smiled when she’d handed in her delivery chits to the ops rooms, and generally tried to put a brave face on things. She’d learned very quickly it wasn’t the done thing to share her own worries with other than close friends. Everyone had worries, and a stranger wasn’t being rude when they showed no interest in you if you had a moan. Everyone had only so much attention and interest for strangers. Consequently, by the time Penny had picked her up for the trip back to Hamble, her head was throbbing, and she felt like a really good scream could be in order.

Jane sometimes waited around to greet the final incoming taxi flight of the day, and when she did, there was usually a good reason. When Penny turned in to land, Doris could see the familiar shape of their boss standing on the steps of the flight line hut. When her friend pulled up the Anson to a halt and Greta—or Yvette?—opened the door, the expression upon Jane’s face was not a happy one. This impression was enforced when she didn’t acknowledge either of those girls as they passed her.

Once the engines had finally wound down enough for them to hear each other, Mary quizzed her friends. “Do either of you know if you’ve done anything?” Both gave a moment’s thought before shaking their heads. “Me either,” said Mary.

It didn’t take long for them to find out what was wrong or, rather it didn’t take long for Doris to get a sinking feeling. “Can you come with me, please, Doris? I need to speak to you, alone.” So saying, Jane started to stride off before stopping and turning her head. “Change first, please,” she added, then recommenced heading toward the ops hut and her office.

Once they were sure their boss was out of earshot, Penny hurried them off to the flight line hut, slammed the door behind her, and turned toward where Doris was hurriedly stripping off her Sidcot suit. “Any idea?” she asked.

Doris shook her head from underneath her jumper, where her slightly muffled voice replied, “Not a clue.”

No more discussion was necessary, and within ten minutes, the three of them stood outside Jane’s office. Doris knocked on the door, and, “Come in,” came the answer.

Jane stood leaning against her desk, and when the door opened, her eyebrows shot upward. “I don’t believe my invitation was for anyone but Doris,” she stated.

For the first time in a while, Jane was treated to the sight of Penny and Mary speechless.

Before either was able to think of anything to say, Jane advised, “You two should get off back home. I don’t know how long this will take.”

So saying, she reached out and took Doris by the hand, guided her into the office and toward a chair, then gently closed the door on her friends.

Settling herself into the chair, Doris tried to make herself comfortable, only she was unsettled, as she didn’t know why she’d been called into the office. Things weren’t helped by her boss taking the seat behind her desk and picking up a piece of paper before speaking, all of which added to the ominous atmosphere.

Doris cleared her throat. “Um, er, have I done something wrong, boss?”

Jane put the paper down and slowly lifted her eyes to look at where Doris was waiting expectantly. “Possibly.”

Not a lot of help, Doris thought, a frown making an appearance, and she told Jane so. “You’ll have to be a little clearer, Jane.”

Looking decidedly awkward, Jane cleared her throat, then picked up and put down the same bit of paper without appearing to look at it. “It’s like this, and please bear in mind I’m only telling you what I’ve been contacted about.”

Doris leant forward. “You’re making me very nervous,” she told Jane.

“Sorry,” she answered, getting to her feet. “I didn’t intend to.” She came around from behind her desk and pulled up a chair so she could sit next to the American. “Look. I’ve had a letter from the adjutant of the 351st Bomb Group at RAF Polebrook.” Doris settled back, and a smile came to her face at the memory. This was wiped away by Jane’s next words. “They want to know if you know anything about a special handkerchief belonging to a certain Captain Clark Gable? Think carefully before answering.”

Fighting down her first impulse to declare that of course she knew about it, Doris gave the matter some thought, trying to think what Jane could mean. When nothing came to mind, she shook her head and waited to hear what Jane had to say next.

“You don’t know anything about it?” Jane asked again.

“I saw it,” Doris cleared up, “when he showed it to me. It had loads of signatures on it, if I remember right.”

“Nothing else?”

Doris frowned, not knowing what Jane could mean.

“Look, what’s this all about? What did the letter say?”

“According to what’s in the letter, this handkerchief has gone missing,” Jane told her.

Still puzzled, Doris sat back and folded her arms before asking, “What the hell’s that got to do with me?”

Obviously uncomfortable, Jane leaned toward Doris and filled in the blanks, “It was presented to Mr. Gable at a leaving party for him in Hollywood, and those signatures were all by his friends. They’ve told me he’s come to think of it as a lucky talisman, and we both know how serious us flying types take these things.” Doris could only nod. What she was told next left her with her mouth hanging open. “Apparently, you were the last person he remembers giving it to.”